Haven From Hell (Book 2): Warrior's Chronicle

by Won, Mark

  The doctor seemed to mull it over for a bit, “The only problem that I can see is that Miss Parker is only sixteen. A bit young for a change like that. Could her parents tag along?”

  “That’s no problem, Doctor. The more the merrier. We can pick them up at the west roadblock tomorrow at sundown. I figure we’ll be ready to head out by then.”

  Buddy interjected, “What about the mayor?” What about him?

  What I said was, “I expect Mayor Callow will have a list for me before too long. That will let me know what to return with come spring.”

  Buddy intrusively asked, “What’s the medicine gonna cost the Parkers?” What’s it to you, Buddy?

  “Well, for starters I’d kind of like a tour of the town if you could spare the time, Doctor.” I motioned toward his car.

  “That would be my pleasure, Paul. I’d like nothing better.”

  So we got in his old four door and he drove me around the place. He showed me the north side of Shallow Ford. It was a bunch of terraced fields full of ripened corn crisscrossed by a bunch of angular and seemingly random streets. It looked like they had an overabundance of food, if all anyone wanted was corn. Eventually, we reached the northernmost extent of town, marked by another giant pile up of used automobiles. Just to our side of the roadblock there was an old farmhouse with three men sitting out front. They appeared to be drinking beer.

  I asked the Dr. Cooper, “Who’re they? And, more to the point, where did the beer come from?”

  While the doctor performed a U-turn in the middle of the highway he managed to look down his nose at the men in question. “Those are our ‘Finders’. They go north of the roadblock to get what needs getting. Supposedly.”

  “I take it you don’t much care for their work ethic,” I said.

  “If they were worth a tinker’s damn I wouldn’t need to ask your help. No offense. It’s just that they always seem to have plenty of beer but never anything else. Unless your name’s Mayor Callow, then I’m sure they’re real helpful. Semi-literate trash is what they are.” He waved at them cheerfully as we finished our turn.

  I said, “Sounds like you’re not to fond of the local governing body, either. Why is that?” As if I couldn’t guess.

  “Because he’s corrupt, that’s why. I bet he offered you the moon for whatever he wanted. Did he even mention medicine? I just bet insulin ain’t on his list.”

  “Why don’t you send someone else out to look for stuff? Don’t you have some police around here, somewhere? If those three goons could find anything useful than I’m sure an experienced cop could as well.”

  He replied, “There’s a police station in Shallow Ford, but when the monsters happened the cops just took everything they could get their hands on, and went north into High Quarry. That’s where their families lived. None of them ever came back. We did send out Josiah and Nolan but they never came back, either. Damn shame, they were good boys.”

  “I have to ask, Doctor. Did Billy Ray and his buddies know you were going to send Josiah and Nolan out?”

  His expression turned grim and I just knew he had considered that line of thought already. All he said was, “Yes, yes they did.”

  I decided to change the subject, “So, how far around the town does the safe zone stretch? Do you know?”

  He didn’t understand the question, so I had to explain how in some places no one had been affected by the Change. I also explained how the dead in those places stayed down when they died. How that wasn’t the case everywhere else. He had no idea what I was talking about.

  “Well, Paul, It’s not like we can do any experiments, now is it? All I know is that in the six months since this all happened three people have died, all in the city limits, and none became monsters.”

  That led to a discussion about all the various kinds of monsters. I filled him in on the names and natures of zombies, ghouls, and ogres and the best ways to kill each. It wasn’t until that moment I noticed that no one else in town had seemed too curious about our universal enemy. I asked Doctor Cooper why that was.

  “If I had to guess, Paul, I’d say folks are too scared to hear about it. As long as what’s outside stays outside everybody’s just happy to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  By that time the doctor had taken us through town, shown me the east roadblocks (just like the roadblocks to the north and west), the Baptist church (right next to the Jehovah’s Witness kingdom hall), and the south roadblock (near by where Dr. Cooper lived). We had passed a green sign labeled ‘Flag Town’ on our way over.

  I asked Dr. Cooper, “Are we in a different town here?” I’d noticed that the town of Shallow Ford had narrowed considerably as we moved south. Then it seemed to stop altogether for about a quarter mile before picking up again. That’s where I saw the new city sign.

  “We sure are,” the doctor said. “A village, actually, but I like it better. It’s more spread out and has fewer people. Our corn is sweeter, too.” Sure it is, Doc.

  By that time it looked like my idea of scouting out the town had been a waste of time. Not a total waste. I mean, it was always nice to see people getting on with their lives. It was just that I didn’t see very much potential value for either the local community or Haven, going forward. It had become increasingly apparent that Mayor Callow would only trade for his own plate’s sake, and that he didn’t have all that much to make it worth the effort.

  Poor Miss Parker would either move to Haven or die. I didn’t see any other way around it. There was no way we were going to make special bi-monthly trips just for one person. Not unless there was something around worth trading for. Even then, it would be foolish for the girl’s parents to have her live at a remote location from the medicine she needed.

  Once the doctor had invited me into his home he introduced me to his wife, Lucinda. She prepared dinner for us (a ‘mess’ of corn) while the doctor and I were seated around the table playing a rousing game of checkers (a major pass time in that part of the country). I asked, “So, Doctor, do you guys have anything around worth trading for? Don’t misunderstand, the Parker’s are welcome for free. I just want to know if trade can be a thing, or if it’s all going to be a one way street.”

  “Well, what do you expect? What were you hoping to find?”

  He listened with a downcast expression as I listed the various things Haven might trade for: fresh gasoline (for the buses and generators), lead (for bullets), aviation fuel (for Haven’s three airplanes), a whole lot of propane (a temporary fix for the electricity crisis), miles of barbed wire (for anti-zombie fencing), saltpeter (again, for the bullets), computers or specialized software (Mark had an idea for E-currency and we could use all the spare computers we could get), artillery or tanks (why not?), a source of explosives, et cetera. Once I reached sulfur, though, he perked right up.

  “We have sulfur, Paul, it’s all around us. These hills are full of iron pyrite. It’s a simple matter to extract it!” The way he said it I could tell he thought he was saved.

  “Now you’re talking, Doctor. With that we can manufacture munitions. I’m going to take a stab in the dark, here, and guess that you want antibiotics?”

  Doctor Cooper replied, “That’s what I want, sure, but I bet that everyone will want a little something. About all we have in the ground around here is corn and carrots. And who doesn’t want peas to go with his carrots...”

  It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Not with Shallow Ford and Mayor Callow (although I did intend to arrange to get those tractor tires from him) but with Flag Town and Doctor Cooper. Flag town had about forty able bodied men willing to get to work for the promise of medicine, food, and bullets in four months time. I made arrangements to return by the southern route so as to keep all of our trading quietly separate from the Mayor’s dealings.

  -

  Before I could leave town I had to have one final meeting with the Mayor. We had finalized everything in the evening on that first day in town, but it would have been rude to have left with
out saying goodbye. The Mayor had been concerned that my friends might not have fixed up my means of transportation, but I had mollified him by explaining that all they had needed to do was patch up the radiator hose. A common failing with a common fix. I had spent the night at the doctor’s place (his wife had been kind enough to make up the spare bedroom for me) and that’s where the Mayor had decided to pick me up. His plan was to drive me to the west roadblock and drop me off.

  “So, Paul, you ready to head out?” His chauffeur held the door for me.

  “Thanks,” I said to the man, trying to hide a grimace of distaste. A man should really open his own doors.

  I got in the back seat next to Mayor Callow, “Looks like it’s going to be another fine day. I hope the weather holds.” Which was true. Up north, the snow might have already been falling. But that wasn’t why I said it. I was in high hopes of focusing on small talk until I could get away. The mayor and I had nothing in common.

  Mayor Callow wasn’t having any of that, “So when you return you’ll be sure to remember the butter? And which way will you come by? The same westerly route?”

  “Yes, Mayor. I think it would be more convenient to stick with what we know. All of our trading can be accomplished just as well there, I think.”

  “So I hear tell that you folks up north turn into monsters when y’all die, is that right?”

  I told him, “Well, it’s not exactly a sure thing, far from it, but it has been known to happen. Places like Shallow Ford are a rarity.”

  “Oh,” he said, trying to play it cool, “where else is like Shallow Ford?”

  I tried to think of a reason to lie but none came to mind. “New Orleans was safe from people turning into zombies – that’s what we call the monsters. At least on the lake side of the city. Across the river it’s a whole different situation. The real problem they have is lawlessness. Not a nice place to visit, so if you do decide to take a trip I’d recommend that you go heavily armed.”

  “Is that so? Well, I shall have to bear that in mind if I ever decide to take a trip down the Mississippi. The journey itself sounds frightfully dangerous. How many men would you recommend for such a journey?”What you mean is, ‘How many men are you traveling with? If push comes to shove, how dangerous a force do you represent?’

  I said, “Once you reach the river you should be pretty safe from monsters, at least the dead kind, but on the road I’d recommend at least eighty men in modified vehicles. Be sure to bring along plenty of fully automatic rifles with lots of ammunition. Old army bases sometimes have a surprising amount of ordinance just laying around these days. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could come up with a bazooka or two. Last time we even got some land mines. Those things make a great defense against the monsters. All you have to do is lay them on the ground and the zombies are too stupid to avoid them. Do you know of any such military places round about?” I already knew the answer was no from Dr. Cooper, but I was trying to sell a mental picture that would keep the mayor in a peaceable frame of mind.

  “All that?” He seemed intimidated. Good. I couldn’t see any use in the mayor sending out reclamation crews which might get in my way.

  Then he went on, “When your bus broke down, why did you decide to scout alone? Isn’t that dangerous? Why not wait until the repairs were complete? You know, in case you had to come running back. And another thing, boy, why didn’t you ask for a new radiator hose for your bus? What were you thinking?” I had hoped he wouldn’t start thinking. That was just the sort of thing which might ruin our relationship.

  I didn’t want to tell him that I was afraid that I might have been walking into a den of robbers, so I concocted an initial story about being alone, then had to patch it up once everything looked safe. The trouble with people knowing that you don’t trust them is that then you can’t trust them. So, I had a choice: either tell the truth or come up with another lie. Or maybe a little of both.

  “I scout alone because I’m real good at it.” I made sure to puff out my chest some when I said that, trying to look stupid. “The captain knows I’m the best, so he always lets me scout out ahead. Nobody wanted to wait on repairs because winter’s coming on, and the reason I didn’t ask for a hose was because I don’t have anything with me to trade with. You don’t look like the kind of man who’d give something for nothing. Oh yeah, and I would never run back to my unit with hostiles on my tail unless I was leading them into a trap.”

  The mayor needed a moment to mull that load of crap over, then he said, “What color is your captain, boy?” All that ‘boy’ stuff was really starting to piss me off. My mind was beginning to go to dark places. If it wasn’t for my deal with Dr. Cooper and the fact that a kid with diabetes needed my help I might have bled that arrogant prick out right then and there. I was pretty sure I could escape Shallow Ford anytime I wanted to.

  “Well, Captain Jake Anderson is white, of course. What kind of question is that?” I had an expression plastered on my face which I hoped said ‘what other kind of color could a captain be?’ I watched the mayor’s gears spin for a minute or two. He seemed happy with my response.

  He said, “And Captain Anderson always has you scout things out ahead of the main group? All by yourself?”

  “Yes sir.”

  With a smug and knowing look, “Well, your captain sure sounds like an intelligent commander. A man who knows how to use his… assets… properly.” Then a cloud came over his face, “How do you know Captain Anderson will be waiting for you when you get back? Maybe, once he had repairs complete, he drove off with his men.” By his expression I could guess that’s exactly what Mayor Callow would have done if he had been in a similar situation.

  Maintaining a look of absolute assurance I replied, “This kind of thing happens all the time. The captain always waits for the scouts to return. How else is he going to learn anything?”

  “I look forward to meeting this captain of yours. He sounds like the kind of man I can negotiate with.”

  “I’m sure he’ll enjoy meeting you too, sir. He’s just forty miles on the other side of the road block. We’ll have to move low and fast to avoid the monsters so it should only take us, maybe, ten hours to reach them.” I made a point of looking at my watch. “That’s when I’m due back by, anyway.” There was no way that corpulent bloated toad could even move forty miles, let alone run them. I had no intention of hauling that moron back to the crew, as much because it would complicate my lies as because I didn’t want to be seen in his company.

  Mayor Callow said, “Don’t be stupid, Paul. I meant I’ll meet him come spring, when y’all return with trade goods. Now, are you going to be able to remember everything I – I mean we – want to trade for? You won’t forget anything, will you?”

  “I got it all written down here,” I patted my pocket, “just like the captain taught me.”

  That’s when the car pulled up on the town side of the west roadblock, and we got out. I was eager to be out of that odious racist’s presence.

  “You remember Linda Barrow? The woman you first met here?” The mayor motioned over his shoulder down the road toward the Barrow place.

  “Yeah,” I said. What I thought was, what now?

  “She said that you slept in trees to get here. Is that true?”

  I took off my pack and pulled out my rope. Then I showed him how I could attach it to my harness. “That’s how it’s done, Mayor, if you’re ever out and about.” Which was actually true. It was my own design, and I was proud of it. I’d much rather have slept up a tree than on the ground, considering all the walking dead shambling about. I know sleeping up a tree wouldn’t help any against the ghouls (which had no trouble climbing) or ogres (which could just knock the tree down), but against the zombies it could prove a real life saver.

  He just shook his head at me like I was just the cleverest creature he ever did see. What he said was, “You’re definitely one of the good ones, Paul. You’re captain is lucky to have one like you.”

  Then
, before I could kill him, he got back in his car and was driven off. What a bastard.

  Chapter 3: An Unpleasant Aroma, Interrogation 101, Country Justice

  I began my walk back the way I’d come, keeping an eye out for any hostiles. I figured that I’d have to move at least a mile before trying to raise anyone on my walkie talkie. As I made my way back along the wooded ridge the wind shifted and I caught the faint trace of some awful stench. Whether a ghoul or ogre I didn’t know, and I didn’t bother to look around to find out. Instead, I immediately began a quiet dash from cover to cover. I figured that whatever was following me would have to break its own cover if it wanted to keep up. That, and I’d rather pose a moving target than a sitting duck.

  Once I’d put fifty yards behind me I went flat and surveyed the woods I’d just passed through, looking for any movement. What I saw were three hillbillies and their dog, dogging my trail. The canine made less noise than the men. Probably smelled better, too.

  The hillbillies’ dog was a fine looking animal in a muttish sort of way. Hard to tell the original stock but I could see some hound in there somewhere. The humans accompanying the dog were of much more obscure decent. Their appearance put my faith in the Almighty to the test as they seemed to be living proof of human evolution, in the form of the missing link. Perhaps not so much evolution as devolution, if you take my meaning. I could easily envision any children they might have (God forbid!) as great white apes picking the fleas out of one another’s fur.

  The one holding the dog’s leash was about five foot ten wearing filthy, torn, and faded denim overalls held up by a single shoulder strap and a similarly dirty, flannel, long sleeved shirt. He hadn’t shaved in days (neither had I) and his beard was matted with the detritus of a thousand meals (I always try to avoid that look). Clearly the man had used his mustache as a soup filter during his most recent meal. The hillbilly immediately to his left had a patchwork beard of embarrassing proportions. Folks like him are why people invented shaving in the first place. It couldn’t be that hard to find a razor. Or scissors. Or a pair of sheep shears. The final man must have found flossing to be the easiest chore in the world since the gaps in his teeth were wide enough to stick a toothbrush in sideways. All were overweight and had a stupid, neanderthal-like cast to their features (meaning no offense to neanderthals). Each had a small backpack, and more significantly, they were each armed with a pump shotgun. That’s the part that really caught my attention.